Purple
by Cellino
Summary: Harry 'n' Draco. Detention. Bwhaha.


title:Purple.  
author:Morningstar.  
rating:PG-13.  
fandom:Harry Potter.  
pairing:Potter/Malfoy. the younger. very mild. very. [so far ^.^]  
series:one-off. really.  
dedication:To Danny ::giggles:: For keeping Draco in character. And to  
those few Digimon eps where people randomly bitch-slapped each other.  
And to Dais, of course, for insisting that "I want more of the damn  
Draco with purple hair fic!" And to Trent Reznor, because he was on   
TV just now looking really pretty, and to Marilyn Manson's pink  
sparkly boots, which were also on TV just now looking really pretty.  
A/N:It is really late at night. Jori is reading book 4. Jori   
reads the sentance, 'Harry had a sudden mental image of himself in a  
top hat and tails, accompanied a by a girl in the sort of frilly   
dress Aunt Petunia always wore to Uncle Vernon's work parties.' Jori   
has a sudden mental image of Harry in a top hat and tails,   
accompanied by Draco Malfoy in the sort of frilly dress Aunt Petunia   
always wore to Uncle Vernon's work parties. Jori is incrediably   
amused by this. Jori tries really, really hard to not write a fanfic   
to this extent.  
Astoundingly, Jori succeeds.  
But it's still pretty damn weird.  
Draco acts all Dilandau-ish. Because she [Jori] can.  
[Actually, he probably doesn't. But he was intended to. hn.]  
  
***  
  
'I think locking the two of you in a room together is punishment enough,'  
Professor McGonagall said. 'When I walk out of this room, the door will  
disappear. I'll be back in a few hours.' She turned around and reached for  
the doorknob, then turned back to face them. 'Give me your wands.'  
'What?!' Draco glared at her. 'I'm not just going to give it -away-!'  
'You're giving it to -me-, Mr Malfoy; it will be perfectly safe, I assure  
you,' she said coldly. 'Yours too, Potter. I can't have you two killing   
each other during a routine detention.'  
With a sigh, Harry dutifully handed his wand over to Professor McGonagall.  
After a moment, muttering a few things under his breath which, while non-  
magical, were nevertheless quite against Hogwarts rules, Draco released his,   
too. The professor tucked the wands into her robes and walked out the door,   
which, as promised, fused into the wall and disappeared.  
'Great,' Draco muttered. 'Stuck in a room with you for hours, and I  
can't even turn you into something nasty.'  
'Like you've paid that much attention in Transfiguation,' Harry snapped.  
They had landed themselves in this detention because they had disrupted this  
morning's Tranfiguration lesson, starting with Draco turning Harry's frog/  
teacup into a small, very confused pig, and culminating in Harry turning  
Draco's hair a fastinating shade of bright purple. Normally of course he  
wouldn't retalliate like that, but it had been a bad day. 'Your hair looks  
great, by the way,' he said sarcastically.  
Draco glared at him. Again. 'It still hasn't faded, has it? This had  
better fade, Potter, or I'll -'  
'- Or you'll what, exactly?'  
'Like I'd warn you in advance,' Draco replied hautily. He tugged   
uselessly at a few strands of hair to try and see the colour, but it wasn't  
long enough. His father had made him cut his hair over Christmas Break, and  
it had never occured to him to use magic to make it grow back. Until now, of  
course, when he didn't have his wand. 'Damn.'  
'Really so dissappointed you can't turn me into a piglet, too?'  
'My hair.'  
'... What?'  
'My hair. It's ... it's short.'  
Harry could only stare in disbelief. 'Your hair. Is... short.'  
'Yes. It was getting long - the longest pieces were about chin-length -  
and I liked it. But then I went home for Christmas - some of us have homes  
to go to, you know-' he had to get that in '-and my father made me cut it. I  
could just have grown it out magically, but it didn't occur to me until just  
now. And I don't have my wand.'  
There was silence.  
'That's the strangest thing I've ever heard.'  
'Shut up, Potter.'  
More silence.  
'I'm sorry. I mean, if I'd known you were so touchy about your hair, I  
wouldn't have touched it.' Harry grinned. 'I'd've turned your nose bright   
purple instead.'  
'It really -is- bright purple, isn't it?' Draco sighed. 'I hate purple.'  
Some more silence.  
'It... it doesn't look that bad. It looks kinda cool.'  
'Sure, for a cur- hey, did you just compliment me?'  
'No," Harry said quickly.  
'Oh.' He paused. 'Good.'  
'What, is being complimented by me the worst that could happen to you?'  
'No, being in your presence is,' Malfoy shot back.  
Just for the hell of it, Harry punched him. This caught Draco so  
off-guard that he fell to the ground, staring up at Harry with an extremely  
surprised look on his face (and slightly-less-bright purple hair). 'What  
was that?'  
'It's called a punch. You should know; you've hit me often enough.'  
'I know what it's -called-, Potter, I just never realized the all-powerful  
Harry Potter would have to stoop so low as to hit people unprovoked.'  
'As you've already poined out, we don't have our wands, and I felt the   
need to hurt you.' He shrugged.  
[At this point, the author desperately struggles to not abandon the 'plot'  
altogether and just write a kinky s&m scene. She succeeds only because she  
remembers she can't write sex scenes. That, and it's midnight and she has  
school tomorrow and needs a nap.]  
[About a week later, the author remembers she was writing this fic.]  
Draco contemplated that for a moment, then jumped back to his feet and   
hit Harry right back. Across the face. To be perfectly frank, he bitch-  
slapped him.  
'That,' Harry said through gritted teeth, 'was really low.' Draco was  
more prepared, this time, for the sock to the stomach, and grabbed Harry's   
robes and pulled him down, too.  
This was perhaps a mistake, as being on top of Draco gave Harry the upper  
hand.  
Draco, however, was able to fix this by bringing his knee up into Harry's  
stomach. Harry yelped in pain, which gave Draco ample time to flip the other  
boy over so he was on top.  
[If you're not thinking dirty thoughts right now, you get a cookie.]  
Harry did nothing but look upwards into Draco's cool, slate-blue eyes,   
wondering how in bloody hell he could look so calm when Harry, much more used  
to having the crap beaten out of him, was breathing hard. After a while, it  
occured to him that this was probably because Draco was sitting on his rib  
cage which, in addition to being intensely painful, also made it quite  
difficult for him to breathe.  
'I've waited so long for this...' Draco murmured, leaning in, and for one   
surreal moment Harry thought Draco was going to -kiss- him. For another,   
equally surreal, moment, he wondered why that didn't sound quite as appaling  
as it ought to.  
But he never found out, because then he sat up quite abruptly, causing   
Draco to slide off of him, causing a very amusing yelp to issue from a very   
disgruntled purple-haired boy, causing Harry to burst into laughter, causing   
said purple-haired boy to glare at him.  
Unfortunately, while some people may find people with purple hair glaring  
at them to be quite frightening, Harry Potter was not one of these.  
And then he had a brilliant idea.  
Okay, maybe it wasn't brilliant, but he was tired and his chest hurt and he  
had never wanted to see Minerva McGonagall more. And, well ... quite frankly  
... he was -curious-. And he wasn't ... well, he wasn't quite thinking  
straight. On more than one count.  
So, brilliant idea in mind, he walked over to Draco, who was leaning  
against a wall and glaring at him, and planted a soft kiss on the lips of his  
temporarily-stunned-into-submission arch-rival.  
Who screamed. [For the record, yes, Draco -does- have a girly scream; it's  
worse than Mulder's.]  
'WHAT. THE. HELL. WAS. THAT. POTTER?!'  
'I... I thought... I thought that was what you wanted. And then you'd   
leave me alone.'  
'Why...' Draco was, frankly, amazed that he was able to put together this  
coherent a sentance, 'Why would you think that I'd want -that-?'  
'You were sitting on me a second ago,' Harry pointed out. 'I thought it   
was maybe, y'know, pent-up sexual frustration or something.'  
'If it's -my- sexual frustration, why did -you- kiss -me-?'  
'To get you to leave me alone.'   
Draco continued to glare at him. As if that explained anything. He   
strode swiftly to another wall and slumped down against it, eager to get as   
far away from Harry as possible.  
'Nancy boy,' he muttered.  
'That doesn't even make sense,' Harry pointed out.  
'Well, it's more creative sounding than "bloody faggot."' [And it's a   
Placebo song. Fifty points to Slytherin.]  
Harry had to admit that he had a point.  
They sat in silence for a while longer.  
And a while longer.  
And a while longer.  
And then finally...  
'Oh, bloody hell,' Draco muttered. Harry looked over at him, slightly  
confused. Draco stood up. Harry raised an eyebrow. Draco walked over to  
where Harry stood. Harry braced himself for the impending blow. 'Maybe...'  
'Yes?'  
'Maybe it -is- a bit of pent-up sexual frustration.'  
And they kissed.  
And they lived happily ever after.  
  
*  
  
And Professor McGonagall eventually recovered from the shock she recieved  
upon opening the door to see Potter and Malfoy playing a very involved game  
of tonsil-Quidditch.  
And Draco's hair slowly faded back to it's normal colour, and slowly grew   
out, without any magical aid.  
Which is a damn good thing, because happily ever after or not, he would've  
kicked Harry's cute little butt if it hadn't.  
  
  
-owari- 


End file.
